


Inertia

by EvelynThursday



Category: The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3273788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvelynThursday/pseuds/EvelynThursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos wakes up in a barn, alone, drugged and unable to move. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inertia

**Author's Note:**

> I started to write this when I felt like writing some whump but as I wrote it some fluff crept in, especially at the end. So now it is about half hurt and half comfort. There isn’t much of a plot, just two connected scenes. Having a character unable to move really makes you concentrate on his senses to set the scene from his point of view.

Athos awoke in what seemed to be an empty barn but he couldn't be sure. He was lying on his side on the dirt floor, right arm scrunched under him, uncomfortable but not enough to want to move. Not that he thought he could move but that didn't seem to matter. A strange lethargy had spread over him, his mind mostly blank and eyes staring straight on front of him. He couldn't remember how he had got there. A small part of him thought that something might be wrong but that part was ignored. He could feel the dirt of the floor against his cheek and could hear the birds cheeping merrily outside but no thoughts about anything came into his head.

He didn't know how long he lay there stupefied before he heard the stamp of horses’ hooves and the shouting of human voices. The hooves stopped and were replaced by human footsteps.

The door he could see, bracketed by bare, crumbling daub walls, was soon opened and a man stalked through, pistol raised in preparation of attack. The man froze at the sight of him and the pistol was lowered. Aramis, for this was Aramis and he didn't need to think to know who the dark haired man was, rushed towards his side and knelt before him, knees kicking up dust from the dry floor. Now most of his vision was taken up by the lower body of his friend though he still had clear view of the door. He heard the pistol drop, though he couldn't see where, and felt fingers press against his neck. He heard Aramis sigh in relief then his voice say his name as hands felt down his body, presumably checking for wounds. He thought that possibly he should reply to the questioning "Athos?" but he couldn't seem to bother to make the effort to think the words let alone say them. The hands made their way down to his feet and back up again, unstopping until they reached his head. They cradled it and lifted it off the ground to touch every inch if it. In the process he could see Aramis' face once again.

"Athos," he asked, "are you with me? Athos?" Once more the words didn't come.

He head was placed gently on the ground again and he could feel a hand stroking his hair off his forehead as Aramis smiled at him. There was something sad and worried behind that smile though Athos didn't know why his friend looked like that.

Aramis turned at the noise of the barn door squeaking open and the hand on his head abruptly disappeared before resuming their former action as Athos watched Porthos make his way towards them.

"D'Artagnan is outside keeping a lookout. How's Athos? Is he injured?"

"I don't know," Aramis replied. "I can't find any injury and I don't know what is wrong with him. He looks awake but I don't think he's aware of anything. It's just like he's empty."

A gunshot was heard from outside and both Aramis and Porthos jerked at the sound of it. Aramis pushed Porthos towards the door. A few more shots were heard.

"Go help d'Artagnan. I'll make Athos more comfortable and join you momentarily."

With speed but with great care Athos watched and felt Aramis grab his right wrist and pulled that arm out from underneath him. That hand was placed in front of his face and was quickly joined with the other that had been lying somewhere near his bent knees. His head was propped up on his friend's quickly shed jacket that smelt of horses, gunpowder and spices. Aramis disappeared out of view and he felt and heard his legs shifted a little so that he couldn't roll onto his front or his back, the usual precaution to make sure that an unconscious person couldn't choke on their tongue. Throughout the ministration he was completely limp and wasn't compelled to move a muscle.

Aramis came back into view and took one of Athos' hands in his own and whilst other rested on the side of his head, feeling the thumb stroke the hair by his temple. He was looked straight in the eye as he heard gunshots continue from outside.

"Athos, I'm going to help Porthos and d'Artagnan and then I'll be right back. And then we'll fix whatever it is that has been done to you." Aramis seemed loath to leave him alone but he saw his hand placed back on the dirt and his friend hurry back though the door.

He was alone again, staring at a crumbling wall and hearing shots through the door; the birds had stopped singing. Time drifted past him once more.

 

It took him a few seconds to realise that the gunshots had stopped. Outside was now completely silent. It occurred to him that he should be worried about who would come through the door next, friend or foe, but that thought barely stayed long enough to be acknowledged before slithering away into the smoke that was his mind. Stupor ruled once more.

 

The door creaked open again. Aramis walked through closely followed by Porthos and d'Artagnan. They gathered around him, the youngest of them kneeling by his side.

"Athos?" He was asked. "Athos can you hear me?" He could see tears gathering in the young man's eyes at his lack of response and his cold hand was gathered in two warm ones. "Aramis, what's wrong with him?

D'Artagnan was looking at him distraught, like he had died. Perhaps he had died and his mind just hadn't caught up with it yet.

"I don't know," said Aramis' disembodied voice from somewhere behind him. "We need to get him somewhere safe so that I can get a better look at him. Porthos, can you ride with him?" He could see Porthos nod in his peripheral vision; d'Artagnan was taking most of his view.

"Aye, my horse can take us both easy enough."

"Then d'Artagnan, take his sword and go get the horses, Porthos and I will get Athos outside. I'd rather we got out of here before more of those bandits find us." D'Artagnan scrambled up, dust flying in his haste. Porthos moved behind him as he swapped places with Aramis. Two large hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him up, head lolling back and vision shifting sickenly before Aramis' cool hands caught it and rested it securely on the larger man’s shoulder. He was sitting upright now, leaning against Porthos, held there by one arm across his back as he watched the other gather his legs together in preparation to be lifted. He could feel Porthos’ pulse in his neck where his forehead rested against it. Looking past his knees he could see empty horse stalls along the wall that he previously couldn't see. Aramis carefully folded his limp arms in his lap and then allowed Porthos to stand up. It was a weird feeling knowing you were off the ground not by your own accord, but this was Porthos, he knew he trusted him implicitly although any reasons why floated unreachable at the edges of his foggy mind.

Aramis lead them to the door, opened it and followed them out into the bright sunshine. He could feel the nice warmth of it on his skin although it was a little too bright to be comfortable.

"Porthos, put him down for a second, I want to check his eyes." He was lowered into what felt like soft grass, Porthos letting go of his legs but using his free arm to wrap around his torso, keeping him upright and leaning against the bigger mans chest. Aramis knelt beside them and took his head in two cool hands. His face was carefully turned towards Aramis, eyes examined carefully before being rested against Porthos' shoulder once more. The blond man sighed and stood up, running a hand through his own hair. "I think he's been drugged. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the barn but being out here confirms it, his pupils are huge. The only other thing I can think of that would cause this is a massive head injury and as I haven't found one I can only think it is drugging. I just hope that its effects will wear off in time, I don't know what plant was used let alone how to treat it.”

“How was he drugged?” he heard d’Artagnan ask from somewhere behind him. The sound of horses snorting and stamping came from the same direction.

“I have no clue. I would have thought either in the barn or in the farm house but there was no sign of any recent use in the farmhouse when I checked earlier. He couldn’t have ridden far in this state, or walked. But someone must have been here and covered their tracks, his horse couldn’t have disappeared in its own, it’s trained to stay put.” Aramis moved out of his sight line. “Go see how stable that mounting block it, it looks like it’ll be useful in getting Athos up on the horse.”

There was some scuffling heard and then he was back in the air again, lifted by Porthos’ arms. He was jostled around a bit and felt many hands over his body and then he was astride a horse, a pair of hands on each side holding him on and the smell of the animal assaulting his nose as he was draped over the neck of the horse. A heavy weight settled behind him and he was levered up back into the arms of his friend. His head flopped forward so that all he could see was the ground and Aramis’ eyes peering up at him. His hand was clasped in both of Aramis’ and a thumb stroked across the back of his fingers in a comforting manor.

“We’ll get you somewhere safe, my friend.” Aramis’ attention shifted to the man behind him. “Porthos, talk to him. I don’t know if he can hear us but it might help.” Aramis gave him one last smile and then moved out of his vision. A few seconds later he heard the movement of horses before his own started moving forwards.

He was cradled against Porthos’ chest by an arm across his own chest, the other bracketing him from the other side where he held the reigns. He could hear the birds sing once more and his friends quietly chattering as he watched the grass under the horse’s hooves turn from grass to a dirt road as the ground moved past.

Secured by the warm weight of his friend's arms he felt sleep creep up on him. His eyes shut of their own accord and he drifted into darkness.

* * *

He woke once more, this time in twilight. He was in a small room in what he guessed was a tavern. The room was lit with a few low candles and light was just starting to spill from the cracks in the shuttered window. He was lying on his side in a bed with a warm weight pressed against his back, breath ghosting against the back of his neck and an arm draped across his waist. He recognised the shirt sleeve and hand as belonging to d'Artagnan.

By his bedside was Aramis, slumped across a wooden chair, legs over one arm rest and back resting against the other, chin touching his chest and head lolled against the back. It didn't look like the most comfortable position to sleep in.

Behind Aramis on a bed against the opposite wall of the small room was Porthos, snoring so loudly he was drowning out the bird's dawn chorus outside.

The two friends he could see, Aramis especially, looked exhausted, as if they had spent most of the night staying up with him, and if how he felt was any indication they probably had.

His mouth was dry and head was aching and his stomach was telling him that if he tried to move it would start churning, like he had had too much wine but drowning himself in alcohol was not the last thing he remembered. In fact he wasn't exactly sure what he could remember.

He spied a pitcher of what he hoped was water on the bed side table though it had been moved just out of easy reach. He extended a hand towards it but stilled when the hand resting against his stomach twitched. He tried again, slower this time, unwilling to wake his bed mate but desperate to get something to sooth his dry and sore throat.

He barely reached across half the gap before the arm over him twitched again then froze.

“Athos?” Asked d’Artagnan quietly. “You awake?” He felt the body behind him shift upwards as the arm across him disappeared.

“I am awake. I would like some water, please help me up.” D’Artagnan made a squeak of joy and carefully hugged him from behind before helping him shift up the narrow bed so that he was leaning against the headboard. The movement woke up Aramis and he was immediately sat at his friend’s side, checking his temperature, pulse and the size of his pupils.

“Are you with us now, my friend?” he asked, finding all things well and smiling at the light now in his eyes that was absent in the barn.

“Yes, Aramis,” he croaked. Aramis poured him a cup of water and pressed it into his shaking hands. The water was blessedly soothing. “And judging by yours and d’Artagnan behaviour perhaps you should wake Porthos up, preferably before he wakes the entire building with his snoring.” D’Artagnan snorted in amusement. Aramis slapped Porthos on the arm and quickly backpedalled as the sleeping man jerked awake, limbs flailing as he surged upright.

“Sleeping beauty had decided to grace us with his presence.”

“Athos!” Boomed Porthos. “Have you recovered from what ailed you?”

“I am well, Porthos. Calm yourself,” replied Athos, trying to hide his discomfort from the building sick feeling he was getting from his insides.

Whilst the water was soothing for his throat it was having the opposite effect on his stomach. Despite taking small sips, that combined with the small movement of sitting upright was making his stomach clench uncomfortably, not helped by the throbbing in his head. Aramis noticed his discomfort and took the cup out of his lax hands before the contents started to spill.

“Are you going to be sick? You are looking a bit green.” He swallowed the nausea down and shook his head in the negative. "Other than the sickness are you feeling any effects from what happened? I guessed you were drugged but I was hoping you would give us an explanation."

“You scared us there for a bit,” said Porthos.

“You were completely unresponsive when we found you and when we got you here you were breathing so slowly I thought we were going to lose you,” added d’Artagnan. “Aramis could barely find your pulse.”

"You were correct in your assumption that I was drugged,” replied Athos. “As to what happened, I was directed to the farmhouse by the village tavern owner."

"We were too," interjected d'Artagnan.

"When I got there I found two men stuffing things into sacks, they seemed to be in the process of clearing out their den. They forced me to drink some bitter tasting liquid and then one left.”

“I found the bruises on your arms and neck,” said Aramis. “They must have held you down hard.”

“Brigands!” Exclaimed Porthos. D’Artagnan put a hand on Athos’ knee where he was leaning against the wall, sitting cross-legged next to him on the bed.

“I managed to free myself from the one man and made my way to the barn where I had tied my horse. When I got there I discovered the other man untying my horse but at that point I collapsed. I’m surprised that they didn’t take the chance to slit my throat.”

“I don’t think we were that far behind you, they must have heard us coming and cleared off before we got there. Do you remember us finding you? I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.”

“I can’t have been unconscious for long, then. I do remember you there, but the memory is fuzzy, like a dream. I remember hearing a gunfight outside, did you see who they were?”

“We don’t know, the bodies had no identification on them. They probably were a rival gang sent after the gang we were after and found us instead.”

“So why did they drug me and not just kill me when they had the chance?”

“They might have planned to take you with them so they could know how you found them. If they had we may never have found you. I’m guessing that they had the antidote to reverse the effects of whatever it was that they gave you, I wouldn’t have thought they would have wanted to wait this long for you to recover. But that is just speculation, we may never know of their intentions.”

“I hope we do find them again,” growled Porthos. “I want to beat their skulls in for what they did. Not honourable behaviour at all, drugging your opponent into submission.” Aramis laid a hand on his arm.

“Calm, Porthos. I’m sure we’ll find them again. Give us a few days and I’m sure we’ll get back onto the right track. Let us all rest again before we do, yesterday was a trying day and Athos has had little time to recover.”

“I can ride whenever you can,” protested Athos.

“It is barely dawn. Let us sleep for a few more hours and then we’ll see if you can keep any food down. I don’t want you passing out from lack of sustenance. We won’t be going until you are fit to ride, though there is no rush as there are some leads we should follow in this village before we leave.”

“I didn’t manage to gather any information so the investigation is in your hands. However I do believe that I could identify the men if I saw them again.”

“Sleep Athos. Worry about finding them after we all have had some more rest. It’s not even light yet, nobody will be moving around.”

Aramis grasped the edge of the blanket that had pooled at Athos’ waist and pulled it higher up his chest. Under Aramis’ glare Athos reluctantly slid down the bed so he was lying down again. His friend pulled the blanket to his shoulders but he wasn’t paying much attention to being tucked in like a child, his stomach was protesting movement again and he was forcing the feeling down. His head also felt like just woken up from a 12 hour drinking session, aching and spinning, which wasn’t helping the nausea. Aramis once more noticed his discomfort.

“If you feel like throwing up the chamber pot is within reach under the bed.”

After a few seconds of careful breathing Athos replies,

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was shuffling and creaking in the room as Porthos laid down in his bed and d’Artagnan carefully settled back at the ill man’s side. Athos looked towards the fourth member of their party who was settling back on the piece of bare wooden furniture that he had awoken on.

“Aramis, share the bed with Porthos,” said Athos, exasperated. “The chair cannot be very comfortable. I am not likely to go wandering in my sleep and I no longer need watching over.” Porthos shuffled over so that there was room for him and Aramis sighed in defeat and joined him.

“If you need anything,” he said taking his boots off and looking at Athos in the eye, “you wake d’Artagnan. I don’t know what you were poisoned with so I don’t know if you will feel any lingering effects. “

“I promise, Aramis,” sighed Athos, smothering a yawn. Despite sleeping for half a day he was still tired. He hoped he would be fully recovered by the next time he woke up, he had the people responsible for drugging him to catch.

As Aramis had a quick tugging fight with Porthos over how much blanket each were allowing the other to have d’Artagnan gave Athos a quick one armed hug as they lay together.

“I’m glad you’re ok. We’ll find those men and take them to justice. If you need me don’t hesitate to wake me up, no matter how small a thing you need.”

“I will d’Artagnan,” he replied fondly, “now sleep.” The young man shifted in the space by his side and stilled.

“Good night, Athos,” he muttered sleepily. Athos squeezed the boy’s arm in reply.

As the sounds around him quietened (it would seem that Aramis and Porthos had come to an agreement over the blanket) he shut his eyes and relaxed, knowing his brothers would find the men who had drugged him. Mind and body settled he quickly fell asleep.


End file.
